


No Turning Back

by Kalkasar (Mordhena)



Series: No Turning Back [1]
Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Slavery, Dysphasia, M/M, Malcolm Reed Whump, Slavery, Temporary Amnesia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-09
Updated: 2020-09-11
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:02:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 20,844
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26375422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mordhena/pseuds/Kalkasar
Summary: A novella that ventures into an alternate canon.Archer and Tucker discover a human who is being held as a slave on an alien planet they have visited in the hopes of forming a trade alliance. Who is the man and why does Jonathan care so much about him?
Relationships: Jonathan Archer/Charles "Trip" Tucker III, Jonathan Archer/Malcolm Reed (implied), Malcolm Reed/Charles "Trip" Tucker III
Series: No Turning Back [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1916815
Comments: 25
Kudos: 27





	1. Chapter 1

Image by Helyn Highwater **_ No Turning Back _ **

_Herein lies my heart_

_Burning through the black_

_Stealing all my breath_

_There's no turning back_

Lyrics: _Copyright, Carrie Treder 1999_

## I

He knelt in the blazing sun, hands bound behind his back; head down, eyes closed, he took what little rest was afforded to him after the long march to reach this place. He longed for even a patch of shade to relieve his skin from the relentless heat of this alien sun, but no one had paid him any attention beyond a perfunctory examination to check that his bonds still held, and an impartial hand that offered him one scant mouthful of water.

He groaned in distress, shifting and trying to settle into a more comfortable position, only to feel the cord at his neck jerk tight while a harsh, alien voice commanded him to be still. Although he did not understand the words, the tone was unmistakable. He raised his head briefly, partly opening his eyes to look at the man who held the other end of the cord.

Approximately 6 feet tall, the alien was muscular and swarthy complexioned. Humanoid, but for the deep ridges across the bridge of his nose that ran over his high cheekbones to the sharply pointed ears; his catlike green eyes glared at the prisoner, daring him to challenge his authority.

With a sigh, the captive bowed his head, trying to rest without moving again. He knew the pain these creatures were capable of inflicting. Pain dealt through implants behind his ears that could be activated to send what felt like rivers of white-hot lava racing through him, leaving him weak and shaken for hours after it subsided. He could not afford that. He needed to keep his strength and his wits about him if he were to escape. Escape. It was the one thought that kept him alive in this harsh place.

The cord slackened around his throat and he closed his eyes, dozing while he awaited the command to be up and moving again.

** II **

****

Proconsul Schylar eased his heavy frame in the seat and leaned over to speak to his driver. "How much further?" He demanded. "It's too damned hot out here! Why do these mercenaries insist on making rendezvous points so many miles from anywhere?"

"We are approaching the coordinates now, Proconsul," The driver didn't bother to answer the other question. He steered the air car to a stop.

"Ah so I see!" Schylar shifted in his seat. "Well, what Jasp has to show me had better have been worth the journey." He stepped ponderously from the car as the driver opened the door.

Standing by the car, he waited as Jasp used a combination of tugs on the cord secured to his prisoner's neck, and blows with a long thin thrash to urge the humanoid to its feet, before hurrying the captive over to him.

The creature was pushed to its knees in front of him. Schylar examined it in silence for several moments. It was male, as far as he could tell from looking at it. Far too muscular to be female; it's head was covered with silky black hair and the arms, bound behind the creature's back were well muscled and strong but its frame was exceedingly small compared to the slaves he was accustomed to. The bare skin of its back gleamed in the sun with a light sheen of sweat. He wrinkled his nose and glanced at Jasp. "Rather puny looking, isn't it?"

"Proconsul," Jasp bowed low, "It is a new species, Proconsul. An off-worlder and not as heavily built as we are used to, but it is strong enough. Sound enough for work or…pleasure. If it please, Proconsul, take a closer look at it."

Schylar sneered. He hated these fawning mercenaries. They would bow to your face, and put a knife in your back the minute you turned away. "What species is it?" His tone was impatient.

"Human," Jasp replied.

At the word Human, the captive looked up, blinking its eyes against the brightness of the sunlight. It struggled to focus on Schylar's face and the proconsul hesitated in the act of turning away. "How singular." He hunkered down in front to the captive and reached a hand out to touch its face.

With an inarticulate cry, the creature lurched backwards, evading his touch until Jasp applied the trash to its back, pulling sharply on the cord to drag the human forward. 

"I am sorry, Proconsul, it resists its training yet…but I am sure that in your household it would learn to submit!"

Schylar firmly gripped the human's jaw and held its head still so that he could stare into the glittering grey eyes. "Such eyes…" he murmured. "I have never seen this color."

"They are unique to the species, Proconsul…many of them have such pale eyes. I've heard that some of them have _blue_ eyes, though I have not seen them for myself."

"How much?"

"Six hundred Braashti," Jasp replied. "And I am sure you will double that if you train it for resale…" He paused and an unpleasant smile crossed his features. "Or only think of the bounty it could earn you if you kept it for service at the consulate?"

"Five hundred," Schylar didn't look up from the human's face.

"Five hundred and eighty," Jasp stated.

"Five hundred and fifty." Schylar straightened and looked into the eyes of the slaver, "and as usual, I will say nothing of your presence on my planet."

Jasp hesitated and then nodded, holding up his hand, which Schylar struck in pledge.

The proconsul turned towards the car, giving his driver instructions to pay Jasp and take the new slave in hand before they returned to the consulate. His mind was already ticking over with ways that he could make money from the human. Such an exotic creature could indeed reap him a small fortune if he made it available to his guests on state occasions. The Clinarin were renowned for their exotic tastes in pleasure slaves. This small, dark haired human with the beautiful grey eyes, could prove to be just the pot of gold Schylar was looking for.

** III **

Exhausted, the human slave collapsed onto his sleeping palette. He closed his eyes against the tears that threatened to dim them and drew a deep breath. He would not allow himself that weakness. He ground his teeth together and slowly relaxed the tension in his tired muscles.

It was the end to yet another party at the consulate. One at which he had, as usual been in popular demand. His body ached in a hundred places. His anus burned from the use he'd been put to, yet he would not allow himself to give in to the tears of shame and humiliation.

He had lost track of how long he had lived at the consulate. At first, he had tried to keep track of the days using a knife he'd taken from the banquet hall to scratch marks into the floor next to his bed, but it had been found and he was severely punished for stealing. After that, the days merged into one and he no longer cared.

He did not belong here. He knew it and yet, his mind could not tell him where he _did_ belong. He knew only that this life, this servitude was not his rightful place. Somewhere on the edges of his mind, lurked another world, another time and place when things had been very different, but he could not force a single detail of that life to the front of his consciousness.

Rolling onto his stomach, the only way that he could find to rest that didn't cause some part of his abused body to complain, the human let out a long, shuddering breath. He must rest, for tomorrow heralded yet another interminable party.

From the little he had learned to understand of the foreign language spoken in this place, it would be a grand occasion. The first visitors from a planet named Terra were to attend the banquet and Schylar was full of anticipation of forming some kind of alliance with them.

He groaned, knowing that for him, it meant more abuse, more humiliation, and more pain. He buried his face into the crook of one arm and drifted into a fitful sleep.


	2. Chapter 2

Captain Jonathan Archer and his first Officer Commander Charles 'Trip' Tucker III reclined on the decorative cushions in the grand banqueting hall of the Clinarin High Consulate. Replete with the wide range of delicacies offered to visiting dignitaries in the sector, they'd both drunk more than a little of the sweet, mellow wine served with the food.

Archer, clad in the black dress uniform of the Terran Star Fleet glanced towards their host and raised his goblet. "A fine meal, Proconsul." He smiled and took a long draught of the dark red liquid, shooting Tucker a speaking glance and watching as his second in command raised his goblet and drank the toast as well.

"Thank you, gentlemen," Schylar beamed all over his florid face. "Now, we have entertainment for our guests. He clapped his hands sharply twice and looked towards an archway, which was draped with sheer cloth hangings, all richly decorated with beads and tassels.

From somewhere in the room, soft thrumming of some stringed instrument began, and was accompanied by the gentle beats of a small drum.

Archer followed his host's gaze to the archway, watching as a slim, dark haired man emerged from amongst the draperies. His lean body was naked to the waist, and his creamy skin was adorned with golden chains from which hung precious jewels. A gold band encircled his brow, and matching bands decorated his wrists and ankles. The man's lower body was clad in diaphanous pantaloons that revealed as much as they covered.

As Archer watched, mesmerized the young man moved to the center of the floor in front of where they reclined and began to dance to the music that strained, it seemed from everywhere at once. The captain's green gaze followed every movement of limb and the precise placement of the bare feet as the man moved through the dance.

There was nothing effeminate in the man's movements. Everything he did spoke of coiled strength and power. His steps were neat and clean, his body flowing as one with the music.

The gentle clinking of chains and the tiny cymbals that the man wore on his fingers made a delightful counterpoint to the music and as the tempo increased the young man whirled and leaped across the floor, his skin beginning to glow with a fine sheen of perspiration and his breath coming faster between lightly parted lips.

Archer sent Tucker a quick glance, noting that the commander was just as mesmerized with the dancer, as he was himself. As the music came to a crescendo, Archer found himself leaning forward on the cushions, breath suspended as the young man moved towards him to drop to his knees, forehead bowed to the floor in front of the captain at the same time as the music abruptly ceased.

"Amazing!" Archer set down his goblet and lightly applauded, glancing at Schylar as he did so.

"Does he please you, Captain?" Schylar lifted his wine goblet to his lips.

"He is very talented," the captain replied, unable to resist reaching to touch the soft dark hair of the dancer who still knelt, panting in front of him. He smiled as the man raised his head at the light touch. "What is your name?" he asked.

Schylar gave a rumble of soft laughter. "He does not have a name, Captain, and if he did, he could not tell you. Our slaves do not have the power of speech." He smiled at the captain's look of inquiry. "We fit them with a device which effectively renders them speechless – only those sounds which are – aesthetically pleasing can be uttered." He turned his eyes to the dark haired man as he spoke. "If he pleases you, you may have the use of him tonight."

Archer turned his attention to the kneeling slave whose grey eyes were fixed on his face with an expression he couldn't fathom. Was it puzzlement? He smiled at the man and glanced at Tucker before he replied. "Thank you, Proconsul. We would like that."

Schylar smiled and clapped his hands. The slave got up and bowed to Schylar and then to Archer and Tucker before he backed out of the room. "You will find him awaiting you in your chamber," Schylar said.

Nodding, Archer took another sip of the wine in his goblet. "He looks human," he remarked, "is he Terran?"

"He is human, Captain, but whether he is from your home world or not, I don't know. I acquired him from a trader who had already fitted the inhibitors. We find it is better if a slave does not recall its former life. They settle into their servitude more readily, and do not pine." He lifted a decanter of wine and offered to refill their goblets. "You will find him a willing vessel…he is one of my most popular pleasure slaves."

Archer kept his expression neutral as he accepted more wine from his host. He did not approve of the manner in which slaves were handled on Clinarin II, but it was not his place to speak.

Whilst slavery was not openly encouraged in Star Fleet, it was not discouraged either. Many captains carried pleasure slaves on board their ships in order to keep morale high among the crew.

He did not keep a slave himself, since he was involved in an intimate liaison with Charles Tucker, but he was not averse to the idea and he knew one or two of his officers owned slaves that served aboard his ship in the capacity of stewards during duty hours and in a completely different status after hours.

He smiled and raised his goblet in a silent toast to Schylar before he sipped the wine. He wanted to know more about the dark haired human that had danced for them so expertly. Perhaps there was some way he could communicate with the man. He intended to find out.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Archer and Tucker attempt to find out more about the human slave.

He stood by the arched window in the chamber of the Terran guests, hands clasped behind his back while his eyes scanned the barren landscape that lay beyond the walls of the Clinarin High Consulate. Desert stretched as far as he could see. Identical to the wastelands he'd marched through in the custody of Jasp prior to being sold to Schylar.

A long drawn breath accompanied a light shiver, the breeze through the window was cool, but he was still shaken by the shock of recognition when the Terran captain touched his hair in the banqueting hall. He'd raised his eyes, expecting to meet eyes filled with lust and had frozen in surprise as he realized that he knew this face. As he struggled to catch his breath, the man met his eyes and spoke in a tongue he knew and understood. ' _What is your name?' A_ nother shiver ran through him. That voice, the softly spoken words, so familiar and yet, he didn't know who the man was.

 _'He doesn't have a name, Captain, and if he did, he could not tell you.'_ Schylar's voice echoed mockingly in his head. He closed his eyes. How he had wanted to speak to the captain, to be able to voice the questions that sprang into his mind. ' _Who are you? Who are you? How can I recognize you? Why do I understand your tongue?'_

The human turned away from the window, drawing the light robe he wore over his dancing costume closer about his slight frame. For once, he was glad his dance had pleased the guests, for it meant that he would be sent to serve them after the dinner.

Dancing was something he practiced to excel in. It toned body and kept him strong. He danced with all his strength, putting as much extension and power into every movement as he could muster. It made his muscles taut and ready. He must always be ready, he told himself. One day someone would pay him less attention than they ought to, and he would use that lapse to his advantage.

Muted voices from the hallway outside the chamber drew his thoughts from the possibility of escape. He turned to face the door, gracefully sinking to his knees, touching his forehead to the floor as the two male Terrans entered.

He could not see what the men were doing as they entered the room. His training held him in place. He would not look up until someone spoke to him, or touched him. Some of the Proconsul's guests found it amusing to leave him bowed like this for hours at a time and he was prepared to do that if it was the desire of these men. He waited, listening to the soft sounds of movement, an unmistakable sound of kissing and fondling. He closed his eyes. Did he dare to hope that these men would be content not to use his body?

Finally, he became aware that someone had moved to stand directly in front of him although he didn't indicate that awareness by even a twitch of a muscle. Waiting instead until he should be told to move.

"They sure know how to train slaves on this planet." A soft, accented voice spoke over him, "How d'you suppose they do it?" This voice, too, sounded familiar and spoke in a language he knew.

"With pain, no doubt." The one he knew only as 'Captain' replied. "The fear of pain is a powerful motivator."

He heard footfalls as the captain moved towards him and he felt gentle fingers brush his shoulder, permitting him to sit up onto his heels.

"Don't you know anything about keeping slaves, Trip?" The captain's voice was mildly amused. "He probably would have stayed that way all night unless you acknowledged him."

"Oh…"

Looking up, he got his first proper look at 'Captain's' companion. A tall, golden haired man with deep blue eyes. Again, startlingly familiar and yet a stranger to him. He looked from one to the other of them, silently waiting for them to command him.

"Stand up." The command, softly spoken, came from Captain.

He obeyed, clasping his hands behind his back and lowering his eyes.

"Look at me."

He met the sea green gaze and forced himself to maintain the eye contact.

"You understand me?"

A nod. He did, although he couldn't have said how.

The captain pointed to himself. "Archer." He indicated the other man. "Tucker," he said.

The slave nodded, indicating that he understood, but he made no attempt to speak.

"Are you from Terra?" The captain asked, "Your home? Where is your home?"

He shook his head slowly and turned his gaze, to take in the chamber, and then shrugged his shoulders. He didn't know where he was from; how could he even begin to explain the shadows that lurked at the edges of his mind?

"Do you…have a name?" Archer pursued.

He could only bow his head, shaking it again and offering another helpless shrug.

"Cap'n, this is gettin' you exactly nowhere. The man don't know anythin' other than this, this place, this life…why do you even care anyhow? He's nothin' to us."

Archer nodded slightly, a gesture of resignation and half turned away from the slave. "You can go," he said. "We don't need your…services."

"Nngh!" He dropped to his knees at the Terran's feet, shaking his head hard in denial and looked up at him in appeal. "Ngh!"

"What?" Archer turned to him. "What's wrong?"

"He's scared is what." Tucker moved over to stand in front of the slave. "Lookit him…"

Raising pleading eyes to Tucker, he tried to convey by his look, his posture, the Cold fear that clutched at his heart when Archer dismissed him, sending him to his knees with a cry of supplication. He had only ever been sent away by a guest once, and the punishment when it was discovered had very nearly killed him. He shook his head again and dared to touch Tucker's foot, whimpering softly. _Please don't send me away! Please!_

Archer frowned. "I don't want to use him…it's not like he has any choice…and you know I haven't had a slave in…well, a long time."

"Yeah, but maybe if we don't, they'll hurt him. Or worse." Tucker argued. "He's obviously terrified of bein' sent away." He looked down at the man kneeling at his feet. "They don't handle slaves here the same way our people do. We don't know what it will mean if they think he's upset us or somethin'."

Looking from one Terran to the other, he followed their conversation. He put every ounce of appeal he could muster into his eyes, mutely begging them to let him stay. He couldn't face the pain from the implants again, it was worse than any beating. It got inside him and made him want to tear free of his own skin to escape it. He groaned, bowing with his forehead to the floor. He would do anything if they would just allow him to stay with them.

He heard Archer sigh and was aware of the heavy footfalls of the large framed man and a moment later the same gentle touch to his shoulder. He raised his head and looked into the Terran's eyes.

"If you just…rest here tonight, will you get into trouble?" The captain's voice was low, and so gentle that it almost undid him. He lowered his eyes, shaking his head mutely. It was up to the Terrans _how_ they used him. Only being sent away before the dawn would result in punishment.

"Stay," Archer murmured and then he moved away before the slave could even try to indicate his gratitude.


	4. Chapter 4

Jonathan Archer lay on his back in the darkness, staring up at the high ceiling of the guest chamber. Next to him, curled into the crook of his arm, his head resting on the captain's chest, Charles Tucker III slept quietly. The captain sighed and stirred slightly attempting to extricate himself from his lover's embrace without waking him.

Tucker had drifted to sleep, as was his wont, immediately following their lovemaking. The captain, however, found sleep elusive. He sat up as Tucker mumbled something in his sleep and rolled away from him. Straining his eyes in the dim light that filtered through the window, he was able to make out the form of the human slave curled asleep on the floor not far from the foot of the bed.

Jon stared at the still form for a few moments and then eased his large frame out of bed and reached for a silk robe that was provided by their hosts. He slipped the garment on and tied the sash at his waist, moving to the slave's side and hunkering down next to the sleeping man.

In repose the young man's face had lost much of the nervous strain that was apparent when he was awake, his thin lips were slightly parted and dark lashes brushed against the high cheekbones. Jon stared at him, trying to understand what it was about this man that seemed to call to some part of his soul. Tucker was right when he said that this man was nothing to them, so why this feeling of _déjà vu_? What did this young slave awaken that made him want to know more about him?

Archer reached out and touched the slave's arm.

He woke with a start and scrambled to his knees, bowing his head to the floor in silence and Jon touched his shoulder.

"It's all right," he whispered, mindful of his lover sleeping a few feet away. "I want to talk to you," he went on when the slave sat back on his heels, "Come with me."

Archer led the way out through the arched window, onto a patio where a couple of chairs stood either side of a small glass topped table. He sat, and waved a hand at the other chair, but the slave shook his head, sinking instead to his knees at Archer's feet.

"No." Archer leaned forward and raised the dark haired man's chin with two fingers, forcing the slave to meet his eyes. "I am giving the orders here, and I want you to sit in that chair. Understand?"

The clear blue-grey eyes met his for a moment and then the man nodded. rising, he moved to the chair. He laid his hands in his lap and lowered his eyes, staring at the tabletop.

Although he knew the man had no choice, Archer found his silence a little unnerving. He sighed, watching the man and asking himself again what it was about this man that made him want to get through to him somehow. There was sharp intelligence in those clear eyes. It made the muteness more troubling. It bothered him more than it should. More than the captain was prepared to fully admit.

Looking up, he found those clear eyes fixed on him. "What?"

Frowning, the slave shook his head and then raised a hand to point at his own chest. He then placed a fingertip to next to his eye before he pointed at the captain.

"You...see me?" Archer frowned, trying to understand as the slave shook his head. He watched as the slave made another attempt. Again the man indicated himself, and then he touched his temple and then pointed at archer.

"You know me…" Archer shook his head as the man nodded quickly. "That's not possible. We've never met before tonight."

The slave shrugged. He signed again.

"I know – you speak?" Archer leaned forward, studying the man carefully. "You mean you understand my language?" He was rewarded with another nod and a small smile.

"That's true," Archer agreed, "but that may be because we're from the same planet. It doesn't mean we've met before." He watched as the slave signed insistently. "But … you know my face…"

"Mm!" The slave nodded again, his eyes gleaming with certainty. _I know your face;_ he signed it again. He pointed towards the chamber they'd left and made more signs.

"You know Tucker as well?" Archer sighed heavily as this was met with another affirmative. "I don't understand it," he murmured getting to his feet. "I am sure I would have remembered meeting you…" He looked towards the dark haired man, studying him in silence for some time.

Sighing, the slave turned his eyes away from Archer's face, staring for a long time out into the desert wasteland beyond the Consulate. A look of deep sadness and confusion suffused the delicate features.

Archer found himself wondering what it must be like for an intelligent, sentient being to be deprived of speech and identity. He couldn't imagine he would be able to bear such a thing as stoically as this man seemed to. He turned his gaze away, following his stare out into the wilderness. Drawing a deep breath, he mentally reviewed what he knew of the Clinarin.

They were a major power in this sector. According to the database on board his ship, anyone who had dealings with the Clinarin did so on the most deferential terms, and this was borne out by the heavily armed and shielded vessels that had met and escorted his ship into orbit of the second planet in the system.

Archer didn't approve of many things he had found on this planet. Not the least of them, the trade in drugs and slaves, yet he knew he could not comment on their culture. Starfleet had ordered him to open negotiations for a trade alliance, dealing with the trace minerals and elements that were found in rich deposits in the system, not to spark an incident over his foolish preoccupation with a slave.

A soft sound behind him caused the captain to turn and look at the dark haired man who now stood beside the chair. He smiled softly and watched as the man pointed towards the pink tinge of dawn on the horizon.

"Time to go is it?" He nodded his permission when the slave confirmed his question. "Goodbye," he said softly.

The slave bowed, touching the heel of his hand to his forehead and then left on silent feet.


	5. Chapter 5

Rough hands gripped his arms painfully as he was half dragged, and half carried along a corridor. His head reeled still from the heavy blow one of the guards had dealt him and he tasted the metallic taint of blood in his mouth. He wondered if he'd lost a tooth or merely bitten his tongue, but his mind was too fuzzy to investigate the thought.

He was hauled into a large room and rushed across it. A shove from behind and he sprawled face down on the floor. Before he could move, a heavy, booted foot came down on the small of his back, holding him in place with the unspoken threat to crush his spine should he rise.

Rapid-fire Clinarin echoed around him as Schylar demanded to know what was going on, and his attempted escape was detailed.

He had very nearly made it, too. After leaving the guest chamber when Archer told him he could go, the slave had headed for the small room where he usually slept and whiled away his inactive days. He walked quickly his mind occupied with his attempt at communicating with the Terran and was surprised to discover that his keeper was not awaiting him.

Without a second thought he turned and bolted through the fortress, his feet unerringly carrying him towards a small doorway he'd discovered early in his captivity. One that he knew was seldom guarded. Servants used it mostly. An outlet into a courtyard, and one that servants came and went through freely to bring produce in or remove waste.

He had investigated it in quiet moments when he was left unattended to wander at his whim. One of the benefits of his model behaviour was that his keeper had come to trust him and allowed him freedoms that other slaves were not afforded.

He reached the door and cautiously stepped through it, glancing around to ensure no one was about. At this early hour the small courtyard was deserted and across the yard, not even one hundred meters from where he now stood, a gate led into the open desert and freedom.

Pressing himself into the shadows along the wall he made his way to the gate, wishing he'd had the foresight to take something he might have used as a weapon. His heart pounded as tortuously slowly, he edged closer to the gate, one hand reaching for the latch, he held his breath, hardly daring to hope that the portal to freedom would be unlocked.

His fingertips just grazed the metal of the latch when a gruff voice cried: "Halt, slave!"

The command galvanized him. He hit the latch with all this strength, a sob escaping him when it gave, and the gate swung open. He broke into a flat run.

Part of his mind screamed his own folly even as he ran. He was casting himself into the wilderness with no water, very little in the way of clothing to protect his skin from the merciless sun, no food and slim chance of survival. Yet another part of him exulted in the sudden freedom. His heart soared, and his legs borrowed from that elation driving into the sandy ground, carrying him swiftly away from the Clinarin fortress.

And then the pain hit. He recoiled, clutching at his head as he stumbled to his knees. He only just had time to tuck and roll to avoid injury. White-hot tendrils of agony snaked out from behind his ears and ran down his spine. He cried out, clawing at the nape of his neck where the pain radiated into his body.

Writhing, he rolled onto his back, fingernails tearing at his flesh as he cried and begged wordlessly for the pain to stop. When it finally did cease, he subsided on the ground, groaning and sobbing for breath. Too weak to do anything else, he could only wait until the guard reached him.

The guard dragged him to his feet and dealt him a powerful backhand cuff that sent him reeling into the dirt again. He shook his head weakly, slowly moving to his knees. Frustration and hatred roiled in his gut as he crawled like a whipped dog to the guard's feet and bowed down. He received a savage kick to his side as a reward before he was hauled to his feet and pushed in the direction of the gate.

Inside the fortress once more, he was handed over to his enraged keeper and two more guards who bound him and dragged him bodily to the room he was now in, crouched cowed and defeated before his owner.

The guard removed his foot from the small of his back and fingers tangled into his hair, jerking him upright. He swallowed hard, looking into Schylar's eyes, which burned with fury.

"Is this the way you repay my trust?" Schylar stepped forward and brought one large hand slashing across his face with a powerful slap. "You know the penalty for your actions!"

A galaxy of stars danced before his eyes as he blinked back tears of pain and frustration. He raised his head, struggling to focus on Schylar's face, blinking away the moisture, he attempted to shake his head against the strong fingers that still held him by his hair.

"Fool!" Schylar growled and turned away. "Take him away. Tether him in the courtyard under guard. He seems to have a fondness for our sun..." Schylar cast him one last withering glance over his shoulder. "Bring him to me in the banquet hall after tonight’s feast. He will serve as an example to anyone who might think to cross the Clinarin High Consulate!"

He did not resist as he was pulled to his feet and marched towards the door. The fight was gone out of him. His head ached intolerably.

At the door, his guards paused pulling him aside as someone entered. He raised his head when they didn't move off again immediately and found himself looking into the startled, concerned eyes of the Terran captain. A sharp intake of breath caused him to turn his head to find Tucker standing at the captain's shoulder. His mouth hung open in shock and blue eyes studied his face, registering first surprise and then anger.

"What th'hell happened to him?" The Terran asked.

No explanation was given. His guard spoke a harsh command and pushed him forward. He broke the eye contact with Tucker and shuffled out of the room.


	6. Chapter 6

Jonathan Archer paced the floor in their chamber. Tucker sat on the end of the bed watching him.

"I can't just walk away and leave him here, Trip!" The captain shook his head. "There's no telling what they’ll do to him. You've seen him, the spirit in him – and the fight. He won't relent and neither will they until he's…"

Tucker shook his head. "Look, I can see how you feel about this, Cap'n, but we're not here on a mercy mission. An attempted escape by one of their slaves, or the way they handle it is none of our concern." He paused, and then went on. "Besides, what's so special about this _one_ slave? Why are you so wound up over him? The Pro Consul has hundreds of slaves, of every race…why are you so concerned about this one? Is it because he's _human_ , is that it?"

Archer shook his head, "I don't know. There's something about him, Trip." He sighed. "I just sense that there's something more to this man, something important. I can't explain it any better than that."

"Well, I dunno what you wanna do, Cap'n. All I know is you'd better be damn careful about it. These guys are no small fry, and we can’t afford to do anythin’ that’s gonna hurt our trade negotiations here."

"I know." Archer let his breath out on a heavy sigh. He turned to the window and stared out across the desert as he let his mind return to the scene that had greeted them when they entered the Pro Consul's audience chamber.

The human slave, who had been sitting across the table from him less than an hour before, stood in front of him, trembling as though chilled. One eye rapidly swelling shut from bruising. His lower lip was broken and bleeding. The sharp, intelligent blue-grey eyes were dimmed with pain and there were tracks of tears through the dust and grime on his battered face.

Archer closed his eyes and sighed, dismissing the image from his mind. The pro consul had offered a brief explanation in answer to Trip's outburst and then had dropped the subject of the slave, turning to matters of business.

They still had one more night on this planet before they would depart. Hopefully by the time they left, negotiations would be well in train for a trade alliance. That was what he had to focus on, Archer told himself.

The plight of one slave amongst hundreds could not be permitted to jeopardize those negotiations. On that, at least, Tucker was right.

* * *

The dinner seemed to drag on interminably. Archer sighed, resting on the sumptuous cushions and nursing a goblet of wine in his hand. 

Nearby, so close that their heads almost touched at times, Tucker reclined in a similar position. From time to time he glanced at the captain, making some passing remark about their surroundings or the aliens that crowded the room. Archer was aware that his first officer was trying hard to elevate his spirits and he appreciated the gesture. However, his mind would not relent in brooding over the human slave and wondering what had become of him.

A small commotion by the doors drew his attention and he tensed, staring fixedly at the scene that was playing out. Two guards stood in the doorway, between them, the darkhaired human slave stood unsteadily, head bowed, and eyes closed. He was the picture of exhaustion. Archer felt again the familiar stirring of empathy and protectiveness that he was learning to associate with the man. He raised himself a little on the cushions, hearing Tucker mutter something unintelligible.

“Ah!” Schylar sat up and beckoned to the guards. “Captain Archer…you no doubt remember our talented dancer”

Archer nodded, never taking his eyes off the man as the guards hurried him across the floor to push him down to his knees in front of Schylar.

“He was a model slave,” Schylar said, his tone edged with something like regret. “Until today… today he destroyed his own good record and became a traitor to my house.”

Archer stared at the man who now knelt before them.

The slave trembled uncontrollably, and his fair skin was an angry red. The livid bruises of the morning were still apparent on his face and others now marred the man’s upper body and arms. There were angry red welts on the back of his neck where someone had raked their nails repeatedly across the skin.

Archer wanted to go to him, offer him wine or water, anything to alleviate the suffering evident in every line of his body. He swallowed hard and turned to look at Tucker, reading the same sympathy in the engineer’s blue eyes.

Schylar rose to his feet and took a step forward, seizing a handful of the slave’s dark hair and jerking him roughly to his feet. He shoved the man, turning him to face the rest of the room and pushing him ahead of him as he walked to the centre of the floor.

“This creature is a traitor against the Clinarin.” He said clearly. “He has abused our trust and our care of him and dared to attempt to leave the Consulate!” He pushed the man hard, sending him sprawling to the floor.

“Under our law, his punishment is clear. He should be executed, publicly.” The Pro Consul paused for effect. “However, I am disposed to be…lenient.” He looked around the room for a moment, until his eyes fell on a muscular Nausicaan who reclined on cushions almost opposite to where Archer and Tucker were seated.

“Brendar, you have often expressed your admiration of him.” Schylar’s smile was unpleasant. “Until now, I have discouraged your…interest, but tonight…” He set a booted foot against the slave’s back pushing him forward with a savage force that shocked Archer with its ferocity. “It is yours! Take it and … do not be too concerned for its welfare.”

Archer was on his feet without a second thought. “No!”

Schylar turned, his face a mask of indignation. “I warn you, Captain. Do not interfere.”

“Please…” Archer took a step forward but was halted by a gentle restraining hand on his arm. He turned to look into Tucker’s eyes.

“Leave it, Cap’n.” The warning tone was as clear as Schylar’s had been. “Not here. Not now.”

Archer stared into his engineer’s eyes helplessly, searching for words, but Tucker merely shook his head, tightening his grip on Archer’s arm.

“Choose your battles, Jon.”

"Your first officer is a wise man, Captain Archer.” Schylar spoke softly before he turned to Brendar again. “Take it.” He repeated before he turned away from the slave and moved back to his seat.

Archer could only watch helplessly as the alien named Brendar claimed his trophy and dragged the unresisting human out of the room.


	7. Chapter 7

“We’re getting him out of here, Trip.” Archer’s tone brooked no argument as he faced his first officer squarely back in their chambers. He stood, hands on hips, staring into the worried blue eyes of his second in command. “I refuse to leave this planet without him.”

Tucker sighed and shook his head. Interfering in this situation was a fool’s mission. Tucker had spent the last half hour trying to convince his captain of that fact, but he could see it was no use. He met Archer’s eyes. “Okay, have you given any thought to how we’re gonna pull this off?”

“We have to find him first.” Jon began to pace. “He’s in the hands of a Nausicaan. We’ve encountered them before…I don’t know. Where do you think that man would be quartered?”

“My guess would be we try listenin’ out real hard for sounds of torture.” Tucker winced as he spoke. “It shouldn’t be too hard to hear a man screamin’ in this place…” he tailed off at the look on the captain’s face. “Sorry. Just tellin’ it like I see it, Jon.”

Archer turned away from him, pushing a hand through his hair. Tucker was right, but that didn’t make it any easier to hear. He padded on bare feet to the door of their chamber and looked out. The corridor was quiet and deserted. He glanced over his shoulder. “Did you bring weapons?”

“You know no landing party leaves the ship without ‘em, Cap’n.” Tucker got up and joined his captain at the door after fetching two energy weapons from a small cabinet beside the bed. “You’re gonna get us both killed…I just know it.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence.” Archer stepped into the corridor, concealing the small hand weapon in his uniform pocket.

They made their way slowly through darkened hallways, each with his ears and eyes strained for the slightest sound of distress or signs of movement that would spell their discovery.

After what seemed an age of fruitless searching, Tucker suddenly froze in his tracks, tapping the captain lightly on his arm. “Listen!”

Archer froze, holding his breath so that nothing would interfere with his ability to hear. At first he heard nothing, and then, faintly from somewhere along a corridor to his left he heard it, muted sobs and groans of pain. He glanced at Tucker. “Come on.”

With a sigh and another shake of his head, Tucker followed.

As they approached the room from where the sounds originated, the sobs became more insistent, Archer heard a ragged intake of breath and then the air was rent by a demented howl of agony. The captain felt his blood turn to ice water, as his heart seemed to stop. He swallowed a rising wave of nausea and quickly moved to the doorway.

Raising the small weapon and holding it with both hands to steady his aim, the captain nodded to Tucker who tried the door. It gave under his hand and swung open noiselessly. The two shared a glance before Tucker edged his way into the room, crouching instinctively as another scream rent the air around them.

Archer steeled himself to be stealthy as he followed his first officer. He prayed they were in the right room, but even if they were not, he felt sure he would not hesitate to kill whoever was inflicting the kind of suffering these screams spoke of. Alliance be damned.

“Does that hurt, pretty one?” A voice spoke softly, unmistakably in Nausicaan.

Archer recognized it from their last encounter, aboard the Fortunate. He pressed his lips together in a thin line, keeping to the shadows as his eyes adjusted to the gloom.

The only response to the Nausicaan’s question was a shuddering groan of pain.

“I’ll do it again, shall I?”

They were the last words Brendar ever spoke, but surprisingly, it was Tucker who fired the fatal shot. It was a clean shot and the Nausicaan died without a sound, slumping forward over the man who lay under him.

Archer moved quickly dragging the dead alien off the human and reaching for the dark haired man’s hand; he pulled him off the bed, grimacing at the blood that covered the slave’s face. He wasn’t sure if it was Nausicaan or human and he didn’t have time to find out. He headed for the door, dragging the naked man after him and was halted by Tucker’s voice.

“Cap’n!”

He turned to look at Tucker.

“We can’t go that way…if they see us…” Tucker waved towards the windows. “You’d better make a jump for it…I’m gonna take care of a couple of things here and I’ll meet you at the shuttlepod in a few minutes.”

Archer nodded and looked around for a few seconds, locating a robe which he picked up and gave to the slave, who was on the point of collapse. He urged the man quickly towards the windows, thanking his lucky stars that they were not on a higher floor as he urged him to jump.

* * *

Left alone with the dead Nausicaan, Tucker quickly scouted the room until he found a Nausicaan energy weapon. He picked it up and discharged it, and then he hastily wiped it with a corner of the bloodied sheets, before tossing it to the floor near the foot of the bed. His hope was that when the weapon and the body were discovered, the Clinarin would assume that the human slave had murdered Brendar and made good his escape under cover of night.

He stood for a moment, looking at the dead alien with an expression of contempt before he made his way quietly to the door and let himself out into the corridor. He was unchallenged as he walked through the fortress and casually made his way to the shuttlepod a few minutes later.

Archer was waiting for him, crouched on the floor next to the semi-conscious slave. He had a medikit open beside him and was doing his best to tend to the man's injuries. He looked up as Tucker stepped into the small craft and sealed the hatch.

“How is he?”

“Not good.” Archer shook his head. “We need to get him back to the ship as soon as possible. He needs proper medical attention.”

“I’m afraid he’s gonna have to wait a while, Cap’n.” Tucker offered Archer a sympathetic look. “We can’t leave until the morning.’ They’d suspect us in a second.”

“Trip, he could die if we don’t hurry.”

“Yeah, and we could have a war on our hands if we don’t play this nice and cool.” Tucker looked from Archer’s face to the injured man and back. “You’ll just have to knock him out and leave him to take his chances. We got him away from Brendar, maybe we bought him some time…but we can’t afford to let Schylar suspect we’re involved in this.”

“So, what are you saying?” Archer loaded a sedative hypospray as he spoke. “We just leave him here in the pod and go back inside the fortress?” He sighed as he sedated the injured man. “I don’t like leaving him like this…”

“We don’t have a whole lotta options here, Cap’n.” Tucker moved to the hatch and opened it. “I don’t like it anymore than you do, but this way we’re at least givin’ ourselves, and our friend here, the best chance we can.”

Archer nodded reluctantly and followed his first officer out of the pod, watching as he sealed it securely before they made their way back into the fortress and their guest chamber.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoy this work, please leave a comment or kudos. It helps keep me going!


	8. Chapter 8

Shortly after dawn, pandemonium broke out within the Clinarin High Consulate. Brendar was discovered dead in his chamber, killed by a single blast of an energy weapon to the head. The human slave he’d taken to his chamber with him the previous night was missing. A trail of blood and gore from the discarded Nausicaan weapon to the window told of the fugitive’s desperate flight, but no trace of him was found either in or around the fortress.

Schylar ordered a search of the surrounding desert, certain that the man must not be far away. He had the Terran captain and his first officer summoned to his audience chamber where he questioned them about the previous night. Both seemed innocent and were cooperative. Although he strongly suspected they knew more than told, there was no way to prove it without endangering the alliance that was wanted as eagerly by his people as it was desired by Starfleet.

By mid morning, the Terrans were permitted to leave after an agreement to receive more Terran diplomats was reached.

As soon as the hatch opened, Archer leaped into the pod and checked on the injured man they’d gone to such great lengths to rescue.

“Is he alive?” Tucker was already at the controls, preparing for flight.

“Barely.” Archer rummaged in the medical kit for more medicines. “Get us out of here.”

The flight to their rendezvous point was made in complete silence, Archer attending to the unconscious man, and Tucker focused on piloting the shuttle. They didn’t dare to hail Enterprise and inform Phlox to be ready to receive an injured man. The risk of their transmission being overheard was too great.

As soon as the shuttlepod was safe in the launch bay, Archer moved to the front and pressed the comms panel. “Archer to Phlox,”

“Go ahead, Captain,” the doctor responded.

“Come to the launch bay immediately. We’ve got an injured man with us.”

“On my way,” the doctor replied.

* * *

Laying aside the small medical scanner he’d been using, Doctor Phlox turned to look at the captain. “He’s suffering from many and varied injuries. I’ve done the best I can to facilitate the healing process. Now it’s just a matter of time, rest and care.”

Archer nodded, his eyes never leaving the unconscious man’s face. He drew a deep breath. “The Clinarin said they had done something to him…suppressed his memory and made him incapable of speech. Can you correct that?”

Phlox moved to the other side of the biobed, his blue eyes thoughtful as he formulated his reply. “In time, I don’t see why that process can’t be reversed. There are some implants located near the base of his skull, relatively simple. However, at present he is not strong enough for me to even consider removing them. In a few days – perhaps.”

“All right,” Archer murmured as he turned towards the doors. “Let me know if there’s any change, Doctor.”

“Of course.” Phlox smiled and nodded to the captain and turned to look at his most recent patient as Archer left. “You are a man of mystery, my friend…” he said softly, “but you’re in good hands now.”

* * *

He woke slowly several hours later. When he was able to, he opened his eyes, blinking in the ambient light. He drew a breath, noticing the sterile smell of his surroundings, the muted beep of instrumentation and a deep, resonant throbbing that seemed to permeate everything.

With a gasp and an inarticulate cry, he sat up, grey eyes frantically scanning the room he found himself in. It was alien, but familiar at the same time and that melding of two disparate realities terrified him. He threw the light blanket covering him aside and was in the act of climbing off the bed when a voice greeted him. “It’s all right.”

He bolted backwards, stumbling against a trolley sending medical instruments clattering to the floor.

“You’re quite safe. Please try to calm yourself.”

He backed away from the man who approached him. Eyes wide with terror as he looked into the blue eyes of an alien being with ridged flesh around its eyes and forehead. He moaned in distress, backing up until he felt a solid wall behind him and could go no further.

“You’re in sickbay aboard the starship _Enterprise_. I am Doctor Phlox. I mean you no harm. Captain Archer and Commander Tucker brought you aboard…I realize you’ve been under a great deal of stress, but I assure you, there is no need to be afraid.”

 _Archer, Tucker._ He knew those names. He pressed against the wall, keeping his distance from the alien who stopped trying to approach him. He closed his eyes for a moment as flashes of memory returned. He remembered his attempted escape, and the resulting punishment, kneeling for long hours in the merciless sun, and then the horrors of the night when he’d been handed over to Brendar.

A shudder ran through him and he opened his eyes. The alien who called himself Phlox had moved away and stood near the door, his fingers working at a wall panel.

“Phlox to the bridge.”

A disembodied voice answered, and the doctor instructed whoever spoke to inform Captain Archer that ‘the patient’ was awake.

He breathed rapidly, fear still warring with fatigue as he watched the alien closely. He flinched when Phlox took a step towards him and the doctor halted, holding up his hands in an appeasing gesture. “All right, I’ll stay away. Please calm down, you’re in no condition to be upsetting yourself this way.”

A few moments later, the doors behind Phlox opened and Archer and Tucker stepped into the room.

With a cry of relief, the dark haired man pushed away from the wall. Moving to kneel at the captain’s feet, he touched his forehead to Archer’s foot.

Phlox turned to the captain with a look of enquiry.

“It’s a long story, Doctor.” Archer bent down and touched the man on the shoulder, then helped him to his feet. “No more bowing, all right? You’re not on Clinarin II anymore.”

“Captain, if you wouldn’t mind, I’d appreciate it if you could convince him to return to bed,” Phlox said. “He really shouldn’t be exerting himself this way.”

Archer nodded and looked at the man with a small smile and a nod towards the bio bed. “Lie down,” he said. “Rest.”

He studied the captain for a long moment, finding reassurance in the man’s relaxed posture. With a sigh he nodded and moved to the bed he had left a few minutes earlier, climbing onto it and settling himself against the pillow. He looked from Archer to Tucker and then allowed his gaze to take in the rest of the room they were in, the questions in his eyes obvious to the three men who stood by him.

“We got you away from the consulate,” Archer said softly. “You’re free. You’re aboard my ship, the _Enterprise.”_ The captain smiled and patted his shoulder. “You’re safe here.”

Impulsively, he gripped that reassuring hand and pressed the back of it to his lips. He closed his eyes tears slipping from beneath the dark lashes as he nodded his understanding. He was free. A part of him said he was home, but he dismissed that. While this place _seemed_ familiar, he didn’t really recognize anyone or anything apart from the two Terrans who had helped him to escape. He drew a deep breath, fatigue at last winning the battle over fear and curiosity. Still clutching Archer’s hand, he drifted into fitful sleep.

Archer gently extricated his hand from the sleeping man’s grasp and turned to look at the doctor and Tucker. As he met his lover’s eyes, he surprised a flicker of some emotion that was gone in an instant. “Something wrong?” he asked.

Tucker shook his head and his gaze slid away from Archer’s face. “No.” he answered softly.

Archer frowned, studying Tucker carefully for a moment. “Sure?”

“Yeah.” Tucker glanced at the man on the bio bed and then turned towards the doors. “If ya need me for anythin’ I’ll be in engineerin’,” he said before he left.

“Trip?” Archer followed his first officer. “Trip, wait.”

The commander turned to face him as he stepped into the hallway. “Cap’n I really have a lot I gotta catch up with. Three days is a long time in engineerin’,” His expression was neutral, and he met Archer’s eyes levelly. “Can’t this wait?”

“I want to know what was going on in there,” Archer pressed.

“There was nothin’ goin’ on, Cap’n – was there?”

The question struck like a barb, and Archer sighed and looked away for a moment. “Just what is that supposed to mean, Trip?” He searched Tucker’s face for an answer.

“Why don’t you just think on it some?” Tucker turned away. “I’ll see ya at dinner.”


	9. Chapter 9

He lay on his back in the place called sickbay and stared up at the ceiling. His mind mulled over this strangely familiar place and the events that had brought him here. He sighed, wishing that there was some way that he could voice the myriad questions and find some answers.

A soft sound of someone clearing their throat drew him out of his silent reverie and he glanced to the side to meet the eyes of a young woman with dark hair and warm brown eyes. She smiled at him, her lips curving attractively as she stepped towards him a few paces.

“Hi,” she said. “I’m Ensign Sato –” She paused for a moment, then held up a small device she carried. “I’m the ship’s linguist,” another nervous cough to clear her throat. “Captain Archer asked me to work on some way for you to communicate, at least until the doctor can help you to talk again.” She passed him the electronic device and he stared at it in silence for a moment.

It had a small screen, and a keypad with letters. Under the screen was a pattern of minute holes that he assumed were designed to allow sound to come from the device. He glanced up from it and met the ensign’s eyes, frowning slightly.

“You just input what you want to say,” Hoshi said moving a little closer to him. “Here, I’ll show you.” Taking the device from him she tapped the keys with her fingers. “See?” She glanced at him. “Then, you just touch this button here.” She pressed it.

‘I am happy to see you.’ A faintly metallic sounding voice came from the machine.

“Now you try it,” Hoshi handed the device back to him.

Nodding, he took the machine from her and experimentally tapped a few keys. He frowned in concentration, trying to make sense of the keys and input something intelligible. He bit his lips, frustrated with the slowness of a task he felt sure he should be able to accomplish with as much ease as Hoshi did.

Finally, with a small sigh, he pressed the button that Hoshi had shown him.

‘Hello, Ensign Sato,’ the automated voice said.

“Excellent!” Hoshi smiled broadly, “But you can call me Hoshi. Almost everyone does.”

‘Hoshi,’ he typed and then met her eyes with a bright smile. ‘Thank you.’

“Don’t mention it.” Hoshi returned his smile, then reached over and pointed to a row of buttons along the bottom of the device. “These are shortcuts,” she said. “Words that are used a lot, like: ‘hello,’ ‘thank you.’ If you press these buttons, they are printed for you automatically.”

He nodded and smiled, holding the device in both hands. It wasn’t exactly speech, but for now, it was better than the grunts and other vocalizations he was forced to use. ‘I need to talk to Archer,’ he typed, glancing at Hoshi as he pressed the send button.

Hoshi nodded. “He should be along soon, he had a few things to attend to on the bridge, but he is interested in seeing how this works.”

As she finished speaking the sickbay doors opened, and Captain Archer walked in. He glanced at Sato as he made his way to the side of the biobed. “Ensign,” he said in greeting and then turned to the darkhaired man on the bed. “Hello,” he murmured.

‘Hello, Archer,’ the mechanical voice replied.

Archer smiled. “I see Hoshi has been busy. I realize it’s not the most ideal situation, but for now it is the best we can do.”

‘It’s all right,’ he typed in response. ‘Good to be able to communicate in something other than sign language.’

“And this way everyone can understand you, without needing to learn how to sign,” Hoshi put in.

Archer and the patient both nodded.

“Well, if you don’t need me for anything else, Captain?” Hoshi took a half step towards the door.

Archer gave a nod. “Thanks, Hoshi.”

As the ensign left, the darkhaired man tapped on the keypad of his small device. “Archer, I didn’t have a chance to say so before now, but I am grateful for all that you have done.’

The captain turned to look at him, his expression breaking into a wide grin. “It was my pleasure,” he answered. His eyes went to the device the other man held. “That thing sure makes a difference, doesn’t it?”

He nodded, tapping on the keyboard again. ‘It is good to be able to make myself understood.’ He looked up with a smile, meeting Archer’s eyes.

“Do you…remember anything? Where you’re from? Your name?” Archer asked quietly.

‘Not really,’ he typed in reply. ‘There are some things that are familiar to me. Yourself, Tucker, and some of this.’ He looked around the sickbay, ‘but I don’t know why or where I know you from.’

“I’m certain I have never met you before.” Archer shook his head slightly.

The man shrugged slightly and allowed a faint smile to touch his lips. ‘Hopefully, it will all become clearer once Doctor Phlox is able to remove the implants. It is rather unnerving not knowing who I am or where I belong.’ He lowered his eyes, frowning slightly. ‘How long will I have to stay here?’

“I can answer that,” Phlox spoke as he stepped out of his office and approached the bed. “Your body has undergone a good deal of physical trauma. However, because of your fitness and physical strength your system is recovering remarkably well. I don’t see why you should have to stay here – just so long as you promise to rest should we arrange alternate quarters for you.” The doctor ended with a smile and an enquiring look at the captain.

Both men regarded the captain steadily for a moment, and Archer nodded amiably. “I think the quartermaster could find you a place. We’ve got one or two unoccupied cabins, I think. I’ll see what I can do.

 **‘** Thank you, Archer,’ the darkhaired man typed and then turned his attention to the doctor as Archer got up to leave. ‘How long before you think you can remove these implants,’ he asked.

“Not too long, I think,” Phlox replied. “I had anticipated that it would be several days, but you appear to be recovering from your injuries very well. I’ll review the possibility tomorrow, but for now it’s time you got some rest. You’ve had two visitors in a very short space of time. I don’t want you to tire yourself too much.”

‘Yes, I’ll admit I do feel a little weary,’ he set the device Hoshi had given him on the cabinet beside his bed and laid down while the doctor fussed with a medical scanner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoy this work, please leave kudos or a comment. It keeps me going.


	10. Chapter 10

“…Phlox says that everything went well with the surgery, he expects that our friend will wake up sometime this morning.” Archer remarked as he sipped his orange juice. He glanced at Tucker who pushed his uneaten breakfast around his plate. “I hope he can remember something about who he is. He seems so…lost.”

Tucker didn’t reply, merely shooting the captain a look across the top of his coffee mug as he sipped the steaming liquid.

“Trip, you’ve been sulking now for three days.” Archer laid down his knife and fork. “I’ve given you space, and plenty of time to think, but frankly I’m getting just a little tired of the silent treatment.” He levelled a searching look at his lover across the table. “Out with it. I want to know what’s wrong!”

Tucker raised his eyes from the congealed mess of egg yolk and fragmented toast on his plate and met Archer’s eyes. “I didn’t think you had much time, between your duty shifts and all the time you’re spendin’ with your ‘lost boy’ to notice what I’ve been doin!” He frowned and looked away.

“That’s more than a little unfair, Trip.” Archer was surprised at the venom in his young lover’s tone. He reached for the other man’s hand across the table, but Trip snatched his fingers out of reach, glaring at him.

“Oh really! Unfair?” Tucker picked up the snowy white napkin from his lap, hastily wiped his mouth on it and then tossed it onto his plate. “Lemme tell ya ‘bout unfair, Jon! It’s unfair when you expect me to hang aroun’ waitin’ on ya while you’re in sickbay for hours at a time after your shift ends. It’s unfair when ya expect me to drop everythin’ and run to ya when ya fin’lly decide you’ve had enough o’ _his_ company and have a few minutes to spare fer me!”

Tucker’s accent escalated along with his temper. He got to his feet, leaning both hands on the table as he stared into the captain’s eyes. “It’s unfair when, two years inta a relationship we decided was exclusive, ya get all gooey eyed over some stranger, an’ don’t expect me to buck!”

Archer’s mouth dropped open in amazement and he stared at Tucker without speaking for a few moments. Shaking his head, he managed to stammer. “Trip…I…I had no idea, uh…I…”

“O’course ya didn’t!” Trip snapped back at him. “But now you got an idea! I won’t play secon’ fiddle t’him, Jon. Y’either have me, or ya have him. I won’t jus’ dangle on a string wait’n’ while ya figure it out neither!” Anger and hurt sparked in every syllable, and in every tense line of the engineer’s body as he broke off, staring into Archer’s eyes for a moment, breathing hard. “I gotta git t’work.” Trip turned and stormed out of the captain’s mess.

Watching as his lover disappeared the captain shook his head again. He had to admit he’d been spending a lot of time with the man they’d rescued from Clinarin II but it didn’t go any deeper than an honest concern for the man’s welfare. Did it?

He frowned, thinking it over. He had not really sat down before now to honestly evaluate his motives regarding the darkhaired man. _Damn, I wish we had a name for him…_. Archer sighed. If he was completely honest with himself, he _did_ find the man attractive and had done so from the first moment he laid eyes on him. Still, he was a Starfleet captain, and knew enough to keep a professional detachment. Didn’t he?

Archer rose to his feet as a steward entered to clear the table. He nodded to the young man and walked towards the doors with a sigh. Whether his motives were pure or otherwise didn’t matter a bit, he thought, if Tucker was seeing more in his actions than he realized he’d been projecting. Perhaps others were too.

The captain made his way to the end of the corridor and pressed a call button for the lift.

Stepping into the lift when it arrived, he pressed the button for the bridge but hesitated when the comms panel beeped.

_Phlox to Captain Archer,_

Archer pressed the call button. “Go ahead, Doctor.”

“The patient is coming around, Captain, I thought you’d like to know.”

“Thank you, I’m on my way.”

The man was awake and sitting up a little groggily on the biobed by the time Archer arrived in sickbay. He looked up as the doors opened and smiled at the captain. “Arr..cher,” he said, frowning in concentration as he articulated the name.

“Take it easy,” Phlox cautioned. “You may find you’ll need to continue with the voice synthesizer Ensign Sato made for you.”

With a sigh, the man looked at the doctor. “But…”

Phlox shook his head. “I’m sorry, but you can’t expect things to happen overnight. I should think there will be some residual dysphasia, even with the implants gone.” He smiled sympathetically

Archer moved to the bedside, standing next to the doctor. “I’m sure things will get easier as time goes on. Phlox here is a fine doctor. How are you feeling?”

“Fine,” the man answered.

Archer tipped his head to one side, something about the inflection of the word ‘fine’ struck him as being different. He nodded slightly.

“Glad to hear it.” The captain turned to look at Phlox. “Is it all right if I stay for a little while?”

“Certainly,” Phlox nodded. He gave his patient a cautionary look. “Don’t push things for now,” he said then glanced at the captain. “Not too long, Captain, we don’t want to tire him.”

Archer nodded and pulled a seat over, easing his large frame down into it as he turned his attention to the man on the biobed.

“Have you… had…” the patient began, and then paused, frowning deeply in concentration. He seemed to search for words for a few moments, and then shook his head with a sigh. Meeting the captain’s eyes, he tried again. “Schylar… has he…”

“If you’re asking if anyone from Clinarin II has tried to contact us, the answer is no,” Archer told him. “I don’t think they suspect that you’re with us. You have nothing to worry about.”

“That’s … good to know.”

Archer smiled reaching out to pat the man’s hand. “You have an accent,” he said softly, “It sounds European.”

“European?” The man pondered for a moment, and then his expression changed. “From Earth…I am…from Earth!” He stated it with conviction and met the captain’s eyes. “European.” He smiled. “Yes.”

“What’s your name?” Archer pressed gently, hoping that if the man could remember his place of origin, he may be able to remember other details about himself. He leaned forward, watching as the man frowned, concentration obvious on his angular features.

After a moment, the man shook his head, sighing in exasperation. “I don’t know.”

“Well, don’t push it,” Archer said. “It may just take time.” He got to his feet as he spoke and rested a hand on the man’s shoulder for a moment. “When you’re a little stronger, perhaps things will come more easily.”

“Perhaps,” the man agreed.

He was beginning to look tired, and the captain decided it was time he left him to rest. Archer moved towards the doors and was met by Phlox just before he left.

“I’ve arranged for my patient to study some speech therapy programs I have here in sickbay, Captain,” Phlox said. “It is only a matter of time before he will relearn how to form speech fluently. However, there may be some permanent dysphasia. Although the implants were easily removed, they had been in place for some time and there is mild neurological damage to his speech and memory centres. Probably caused by the electrical impulses which were used to control him.”

“I see.” Archer glanced back towards the bed, where their guest had laid down and appeared to be sleeping. “Do you think he’ll ever regain his memory?”

“Most amnesiacs do recover eventually, Captain. How long that process will take however…” Phlox tailed off with a slight shrug. “It varies from one patient to the next.”

Archer frowned. “For his sake, I hope it’s not too long. It must be frustrating not even knowing his name.”

“For all of us, Captain,” Phlox agreed. “In fact, if he does not recall his name in the next few days, I suggest that we encourage him to choose one, it is somewhat dehumanising to constantly refer to him as a pronoun, wouldn’t you agree?”

“I would, Doctor. Good idea.” Archer gave a short nod and headed for the bridge.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoy this work, please leave kudos or a comment. It keeps me going.


	11. Chapter 11

Warm lips brushed against his and he moaned, running his hands down along a broad, muscular back. He explored every inch of the long, lean body pressed against him and shuddered in delight as a large hand wrapped around his sex. “God, yes…”

“Need you,” his lover breathed against his ear. Breath warm and moist against his skin caused another shudder to ripple through him as the other man’s hand stroked him gently, gradually increasing the pace. He whimpered with desire, opening his eyes in the darkness to try to see the face of the man he loved more than life.

His partner’s face was lost in shadow. He moaned and closed his eyes as lips claimed his mouth again. Pleasure and passion mounted to a fever pitch as his fingers sought, and found his partner’s cock, closing around it, feeling the wetness of precum from the tip of the pulsing organ. He pressed closer, losing himself in the sensation of being held, loved. He felt safe and protected, surrounded by strong arms.

“I love you, Malcolm.” The words were whispered in a dream, but they startled him into full wakefulness.

He sat up, rubbing his face with one hand. “Mal…Malcolm.” Reaching for a light switch, he pressed it, blinking in the soft illumination that lit the room. regulated by the ship’s life support system the lights came on to a dim glow and gradually built up unless the cabin’s occupant asked for brighter light. He frowned. _Malcolm? Is that my name?_ He shook his head in frustration. Closing his eyes, he concentrated harder on the illusive sliver of memory called up by the dream. Aloud he said. “I am Malcolm…from Earth…I am European…I am…” he struggled to fit the fragments together and suddenly in a burst of almost painful realization, he knew. _I am Malcolm Reed_. Tears flooded his eyes, and he made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a sob.

Getting to his feet he paced the small cabin he’d been assigned when the doctor allowed him to leave sickbay, pondering what he should do. After a moment, he moved to the small panel by the door and pressed the comm button, following the instructions Phlox had given him. “Cabin E20 to Phlox.” He bit his lips, wondering if the thing would work. he had not tried this before and he sighed with relief when the doctor’s voice replied, sounding detached and foreign over the comm but still recognizable.

“Phlox here, how can I help you?”

“I…think I …” _damn, now the words desert me._ He thought with frustration as he struggled to form what he wanted to say into a cohesive statement. “My name – ” he said, “I… think,” another shake of the head and he was searching for the small device Ensign Sato had given him. typing was easier and faster and he moved back to the panel, pressing the comm link again. He touched the send button on the machine.

 _My name is Malcolm Reed_ , the metallic voice said.

There was a short pause, and Malcolm wondered if the Doctor was still there. “Doctor?”

“Yes – yes, I heard you.” The reply came. “I will come to your cabin,” he added. “See you shortly, Mr. Reed.”

Malcolm turned away from the comm panel, rubbing his face, and moved to the cooler. He found a container filled with water and took it out, drinking deeply, directly from the jug. He paced restlessly to and fro in the small room, waiting anxiously for the doctor to arrive.

When the door slid open a few minutes later, Phlox entered accompanied by Captain Archer. Malcolm turned to face them and froze as his eyes met Archer’s sea green ones. “Jonathan,” he said.

The captain frowned and glanced at the doctor before returning his gaze to Reed’s face. “Yes, that’s my name.” He smiled. “How did you know?”

Malcolm shook his head. “I just… knew,” he said with a shrug.

“Phlox says you’ve remembered your name?” Archer paused, waiting for a response and Malcolm nodded.

“I’m Malcolm Reed,” he said, watching as another glance passed between the captain and Phlox.

“Is…something wrong?”

“No.” Archer smiled reassuringly at him. “Nothing’s wrong.” He took a few steps until he was standing near to Malcolm. “Malcolm Reed,” he said softly, as though testing the name on his tongue. “I’m glad you remembered.”

Reed watched the captain’s eyes carefully as the man spoke. Something flickered in their depths that bothered him and he touched the captain’s hand. “Tell…me,” he said. “What…what about my…name?”

* * *

“I don’t know who this man is,” Jonathan Archer told Phlox as he moved to a seat in his ready room. “But I know who he can’t be, and that’s Malcolm Reed.”

“You sound very sure,” Phlox replied softly. “Would you care to explain why?”

“Malcolm Reed is dead, doctor.” The captain leaned back in his chair and passed a hand over his face.

“You knew a Malcolm Reed?”

“Yes,” Archer sighed softly. “He was a munitions expert, the best in his field. The perfect man for this mission and I was determined to have him aboard. In fact, I was planning to meet him personally and break the news of his selection…”

“But?” Phlox listened carefully to the captain’s story.

“But, three days before we were due to meet, he was killed. an explosion in an experimental weapons system. It killed Reed and two others,” another shake of the head. “A damned waste.”

“I see. Still, human names are often similar, it’s possible this man’s name is Malcolm Reed, but he is a different man.”

“I hadn’t thought of that.” The captain smiled. “There’s one way we could find out…” He turned to a computer console on his desk and activated it. “Starfleet maintains records of all personnel.” He tapped a few commands into the console and watched as the screen scrolled through lines of information. After a moment, there was a muted beep, and the screen paused at a personnel record.

The heading displayed the name: Reed, Malcolm. Lieutenant, Munitions. And next to the name was a small picture. Archer sat back with an exclamation of surprise. Looking out at them from the computer screen, was the same man that they had left in Cabin E20 earlier.

“How is that possible?”

“I honestly can’t explain it,” Phlox leaned closer to the computer screen, studying the image closely. “I must say the resemblance is uncanny.”

“Is there any way he could have accessed these records?” Archer asked. “Accidentally maybe, when he was using your speech therapy programs?”

“None at all, Captain,” the doctor replied. “Those computer systems are entirely separate. While that would provide a simple solution to our problem, I have a feeling this situation goes far deeper than that.”

* * *

Malcolm paced the small cabin impatiently, glancing towards the doors from time to time as he waited nervously for Archer and Phlox to return. It had been over an hour since the two men had left after assuring him once again that everything was fine, and they would be back soon to continue their discussion.

Why were they lying to him? He sighed in exasperation, wondering for the hundredth time what it was about his name that caused the shadows to flicker in the depths of Archer’s eyes. Surely, they couldn’t think he was lying. Malcolm Reed _was_ his name. It had to be, it felt right.

So why did that name cause Archer’s hesitant, almost doubtful reaction?

Finally, the door slid open and Archer returned, accompanied by the doctor, and Tucker. Malcolm turned to face them, trying to read their expressions.

There was silence in the room for several moments before Archer finally let out a deep breath and moved to a chair. “Malcolm, there are some things we need to discuss,” he said quietly, waving the younger man to a seat.

Several minutes later, Malcolm was staring from one face to another in utter confusion, his head ached, and his eyes burned as it seemed to him he’d been staring, unblinking for ages.

“Dead?” He shook his head slightly. “But that makes no sense…I’m obviously very much alive. I’ve never been in any kind of accident such as you described…well, at least, not that I remember.” He frowned, his shoulders slumping as he glanced towards the small computer console with the personnel records of Lieutenant Malcolm Reed displayed on it. “I…don’t understand…any of this.” He said wretchedly. “Where am I? What’s going on?”

Archer shifted in his seat casting a sympathetic glance at Malcolm as he stood up. “I wish I could explain,” he murmured, “but we’re as stumped as you are, Mister Reed.”

“If I may intervene,” Phlox stepped forward, “I think you should try to rest, Mister Reed.” He smiled placatingly as a pair of grey eyes met his own. “You had a disturbed night, and we’ve kept you up for some time. Perhaps on a few hours sleep, things may become clearer to you, you may remember more details.”

Malcolm nodded. As much as his mind wanted to continue wrestling with the problem of his identity, he had to acknowledge that he was also bone tired. He got to his feet as the three men prepared to leave. “Thank you,” he said, knowing that as bad as the news they’d brought him was, they were attempting in their own way to help him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoyed this work, please leave kudos or a comment. It keeps me going.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Malcolm recalls some painful truths and finds an ally aboard _Enterprise_.

Sitting alone in the mess hall, Malcolm stared gloomily into a mug of now cold tea and let out a sigh. He’d been given limited freedom to move about the ship a few days earlier, once the doctor was satisfied that he was sufficiently recovered from his ordeal on Clinarin II and the subsequent surgery he’d undergone when he came aboard _Enterprise_. It alleviated the boredom only marginally he thought as he raised his eyes from his mug and stared out of the view port at streaming stars.

The fact was, he felt restless and bored most of the time. He needed to do something more than brood in his cabin or wander the hallways of the ship or sit in the mess hall drinking interminable cups of tea. He felt dispossessed as though something important and precious had been stolen from him. He snorted at that thought. _Of course, something important and precious was stolen…I’ve lost **myself!**_

With another sigh, he turned his attention back to the mug of unappetising liquid in his hands. _I can’t stand this much longer…I’m going insane._

The images flooded his mind without warning, and suddenly, he was no longer in the mess hall, he was in the cabin of a small vessel.

_A vessel that shook and bucked as he tried vainly to regain control of the helm._

_“We’re getting’ pulled into th’gravity well o’that planet! Pull up, dammit!”_

_“I’m trying!” he snapped, his hands working frantically at the controls. “The helm isn’t responding that asteroid must’ve done more damage than we realised…See if you can do anything!” He was giving orders and he didn’t care. Ranks didn’t matter when you were staring death in the face._

_“I’ve tried everythin’ I know how t’do Malcolm! You’re gonna have to get this boat under control…if ya can’t then…”_

_“Don’t you think I would if there were any bloody way of doing it?” He rounded on his companion, meeting the frantic eyes of the Chief Engineer. “I’d suggest you bloody well hold on, Commander…we’re going down, and there’s not a bloody thing I can do about it!”_

He breathed hard, his hands gripping the mug of tea so hard that the china began to give in his grasp. He shook violently, held in the grips of a nightmare there was no escape from. He couldn’t pull himself out of it, no more than he could have pulled shuttlepod one out of her death dive into the small planetoid that had claimed her.

_“Oh God, Trip! Hold on!” he gasped frantically as he finally abandoned his attempts to control the shuttle and gripped the console for grim death. “Brace for impact!” he said, his voice sounding deceptively steady and calm and he closed his eyes and breathed a prayer that someone…anyone would protect them._

_The impact, when it came was sickening. Jarring. He heard the scream of overstressed metal as the hull came apart, a breach opening above his head. he lost sight of Tucker who seemed to vanish in a welter of flying metal, sparks and twisted wiring. “Trip!” He felt himself lifted bodily and flung to the side as the craft rolled, pitching over in the sand of the planetoid and he seemed to tumble through choking dust, smoke and plasma for an eternity before at last, everything was still. Deathly still. He was conscious, but for a long while he couldn’t move or speak. He could only lie there gasping for breath and marvelling that he was even alive._

_“Trip?” He called, softly at first, and then with more volume as desperation leant him strength. “Trip!”_

_There was no response and he began to despair for his friend’s life. Had he been the only one to survive? He couldn’t think that. He wouldn’t, Trip had to be okay, he just had to. Malcolm wouldn’t accept anything less._

The mug finally gave way to the tension in his hands and broke in pieces but Malcolm didn’t notice. His eyes were wild, and his breath came in great, heaving gasps as his mind forced him to live in vivid flashback through those moments again and with them came the knowledge that he’d left his companion back there on some alien world. Left him for dead. Malcolm groaned, heedless of the blood that ran from his palms where the broken china had cut him.

_“Get outta here, Malcolm…leave me…I can’t go any further.” Tucker’s one sound eye pleaded silently with him. As the sounds of pursuit grew closer, Trip struggled weakly against Malcolm, trying to break loose from the smaller man’s grip. “You gotta save yourself. I’ll…I’ll be all right if I know you’re safe.”_

_Malcolm stared into the bloodied face of his companion. He suppressed a wince at the livid gash across the man’s left eye. Tucker would lose the sight of that eye if Malcolm was any judge. He shook his head, pulled Trip’s arm across his shoulders and slipped one arm around the commander’s waist. “Don’t be bloody stupid! I’m not leaving you!” He hefted the other man’s weight on his shoulder and pushed onwards. “I’m getting us both out of this…I told you, Commander, we stay together.”_

_“I’m orderin’ you to leave me, Lieutenant!”_

_“Well, consider me guilty of gross insubordination. I’m not leaving you…sir.”_

_“Damned fool!” mustering what little strength he still possessed Tucker pushed himself away from Reed and staggered backwards a few paces. Before Malcolm could react, he turned in the direction they’d come and lurched a few unsteady paces towards the aliens who pursued them. “Hey!” he shouted. “Here!”_

_“Trip!”_

_“I’m finished I tell ya!” Tucker spoke over his shoulder. “I can’t use my arm, I can’t see with this banged up eye, and in a little while it’s gonna be hotter’n hell out here, and I know Ah’ll only slow ya down!”_

_“Commander Tucker…”_

_“Go, Malcolm!” Tucker glanced at him and then half ran, half tumbled towards the scaly, ridge nosed aliens. “I’m givin’ up, see?” he called and was soon lost to sight in the shimmering heat haze of the desert._

_Faced with no choice, Malcolm turned away, fiercely biting back rage and frustration. He had to remain free and try to find a way to contact Enterprise. It was the only hope either of them had now of getting off the planet alive._

* * *

It was the last Malcolm Reed ever saw of Charles Tucker III. After wandering in the desert for another day, he’d been almost relieved when he was ‘found’ by Jasp.

And before long, Jasp had done him the mercy of stealing his memories of the blond man he’d left out there, somewhere in the desert.

He groaned, a sound of profound loss and grief as the flashback ended. “Trip…oh god, Trip…where are you?”

After a few minutes, having recovered some composure, Malcolm got to his feet. He had to see Archer. They had to go back to the Clinarin Sector. He couldn’t think of leaving Trip back there on that planet forever. If there were any way that he could find his friend and get him off that desolate planet, he would do it.

Stepping through the doors, he was brought up short when he collided with an officer who was just entering. Malcolm took a half step back and put out a hand to steady the young man. “I beg your pardon,” he said softly and then took a closer look at the man. “Travis!”

The ensign looked up at him and his eyes grew wide with surprise an instant before all color fled from his face, leaving his skin an ashen grey. “M-Malcolm?” He croaked as he staggered backwards a pace or two to lean against the wall. “That’s impossible you’re…you died…”

“So I’ve been told,” Malcolm managed a small smile at the younger man. “But as you see, I’m here, and I’m alive. You can’t collide with a ghost, now can you?”

Mayweather nodded slightly. “But…how did you get here?”

“I wish I knew,” Malcolm said sincerely. He glanced along the hallway and then turned to Travis again. “I was just looking for your captain, I need to talk with him…” He paused. “Actually, would you mind coming with me? I think I could use someone to vouch for who I am.”

“Sure,” Travis straightened up still looking at Reed as though he couldn’t quite believe the man was actually there.

“Thanks.” Malcolm patted Travis on the shoulder as they began to walk together along the hallway. “I appreciate this more than you can know.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoy this work, please leave kudos or a comment. It keeps me going.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This part gets a li'l raunchy :o

Charles Tucker straddled the lean hips of his lover, eyes closed, head thrown back in ecstasy as he rode Jon hard, impaling himself again and again on the rigid shaft buried deep in his body. Jon’s hands were on his chest, supporting his upper body while his fingers toyed with the younger man’s nipples.

A harsh cry of pleasure burst from Trip’s throat as he tensed and came. The orgasmic ripples sent Jon over the edge with a cry of his own.

Trip fell forward on top of him and nuzzled his neck, his breathing still erratic and small shuddering aftershocks running through his body.

“This is the best part o’ fightin’ with you,” Trip breathed against Jon’s neck.

“I wish we didn’t have to fight, though.” Jon ran his hands through the tousled blond hair and pushed Trip away a little, gazing into the dazed blue eyes of his lover. “I’m sorry,” he murmured, then surrendered his lips to Tucker’s mouth as the commander sought a kiss.

“Nah, I’m sorry, Jon, I was actin’ like an ass.”

“With reason.” Jon shifted under his lover nudging him over onto his side and turning to envelop Trip in his arms. “I didn’t realize …”

“Shh!” Trip hitched closer and slipped an arm across Jon’s body, burying his face against the captain’s neck. “Enough apologizin’ already. It’s past, okay?”

Jon sighed, allowing his lips to curve into a smile against the younger man’s hair. “Okay,” he conceded. Eyes slipping closed he began to doze, delighting in the warmth of Trip’s body pressed into his own. He could easily stay this way forever, he thought sleepily. “I love you,” murmured, allowing the soft waves of slumber to claim him.

He was jarred awake moments later by the sound of the door chimes.

Damn! The captain sat up on the bed, pulling away from Trip who grumbled something in his sleep and flopped onto his belly. Jon suppressed a grin at the sight of a perfectly rounded butt gleaming at him. He reached down and drew the light coverlet up over his lover’s body before he stood up, pulling on his underclothes. He moved to the comm panel by the door and thumbed the button.

“Who’s there?”

Malcolm Reed, Sir, and Ensign Mayweather. The clipped tones of their mystery passenger responded. Archer frowned and glanced towards the bed and his sleeping lover. It wouldn’t do to have the two men come in. The room smelled of sex. He pressed the button again.

“Just… just a minute,” he said. “I’ll be out shortly.”

A few minutes later, dressed in off duty fatigues, the captain stepped into the hallway. He smiled when he met Malcolm’s blue-grey eyes. “How can I help you?” He asked, glancing at Mayweather in enquiry.

“There are some matters I need to discuss with you, Captain.” Reed replied. “Memories…and a request, Sir.”

Archer nodded. “All right,” he said, “His eyes again flicking to Mayweather, wondering why the ensign was present. Reed seemed to understand his puzzlement. “Ensign Mayweather and I know each other, Captain. We were to work together in the munitions program…” The Brit trailed off, frowning. Until that moment, he’d had no conscious recollection of how he knew Mayweather the knowledge simply supplied itself when he began to explain the ensign’s presence.

Mayweather nodded. “Lieutenant Reed requested that I join the Munitions program about two months before he was…well…before…” Travis was obviously struggling with how to explain. After a moment he shook his head. “I was waiting for my transfer to come through when the accident that killed Lieutenant Reed happened.” He frowned. “I asked to be released from the program and applied to join the Enterprise, Sir. Somehow, piloting seemed less…” He glanced at Reed.

“You know this man?” Archer glanced between the two of them.

“I knew Lieutenant Reed, Captain. Unless he had an identical twin brother, this man is Lieutenant Reed, Sir.”

Archer felt a sick headache beginning to develop behind his eyes. “Is this the memory you wanted to tell me about?” He began to walk along the hallway, heading for the mess hall and a much-needed mug of coffee. “And…you mentioned a request?”

“Yes, Captain. I would like to request that you take me back to the Clinarin Sector.”

“What?” Archer stopped and turned to look at the man. “Why?”

“I…left a colleague…a … crewmate there.” He met the captain’s eyes. “An engineer.” Malcolm decided it might be best to keep the name of the man quiet for now. “He was with me in a shuttle when we crash landed on a minor planet in the sector. I was forced to leave him behind. I need to return for him, sir.”

“I don’t know if I can justify turning back,” Archer said softly. “We don’t even know for sure if your friend is alive, Mr. Reed.”

“Please…Captain…” Reed frowned, as his tongue seemed to fumble over the entreaty. “I…need to…know. If…if Tri…if my friend is alive…I need to find him…”

Archer gazed into Reed’s eyes, noting the silent entreaty in the darkening blue depths. He sighed. “I’ll need to talk this over with my senior staff,” he said at length. Watching the man, he saw the jaw work reflexively, watched as Reed swallowed hard. “That’s the best I can offer you at this time,” he said almost apologetically.

Reed nodded. “I understand. Thank you.” He glanced at Mayweather and the two shared a long look before Malcolm moved away.

“Mr. Reed.” Archer took a half step after the darkhaired man.

“Sir?” Malcolm turned to look over his shoulder.

“Your hands…they’re hurt.”

For the first time since the flashback in the mess hall, Malcolm raised his hands and looked at the lacerations on his palms. He hadn’t noticed the bleeding until now, but the moment he looked at them, he winced with the sudden, stinging pain. “I must have…cut them…on the mug. It broke,” he said softly, his voice almost detached. “I’ll…have Phlox look at them.” Reed turned on his heel with a half salute and walked away along the corridor leaving Archer and Mayweather staring after him.

“I swear,” Travis said softly. “I’ll never tell another space-ghost story as long as I live.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoy this work, please add kudos or a comment. It's like Rocket fuel to me!


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On the planet Zilanthi in the Clinarin system, Archer's crew discover Malcolm's story is true, but there's one detail he has held back.

It was a desolate planet. Dry desert stretched as far as the eye could see in any direction and a hot wind swept across the sandy plains, stirring the fine, powdery sand into dancing whirlwinds and eddies that staggered across the landscape like drunken phantoms.

Malcolm Reed hunkered down in the sand next to what little remained of the wrecked shuttlepod. He rested one hand on the sun warmed metal rib that protruded from the covering sand in front of him. It reminded him of the bleached bones of some animal that had died of thirst in this wasteland. He sighed, glancing around as though the swirling sand could tell him more.

After a moment, Captain Archer stepped forward and laid a hand on the younger man's shoulder. "I guess the people of this planet are the same as many races we've encountered. Equipment like you'd find on a shuttlepod is valuable. They would have salvaged most of it."

Malcolm nodded. "Yes." He let his hand fall away from the metal framework and straightened up. "I'm just glad there is something here," he said softly. "It means...a lot."

Archer turned to look at Tucker who waited a short distance away talking quietly with Travis Mayweather who had piloted them to the planet. "Any signs of life?" he asked the two men.

"Nothin'," Tucker replied with a shake of his head. "Whoever lives on this planet prob'ly has more sense than t'be gallivantin' around in the noonday sun."

Archer acknowledged Tucker's words with a smile and a nod. "Well, we need to find someone who can tell us what became of Mr. Reed's companion. I'd suggest you start scanning."

"Aye, sir." Tucker cast Reed a glance before he activated the tricorder he carried and began to scan the area for lifesigns. He moved off a short distance, accompanied by Travis.

Malcolm sighed. He couldn't understand why Tucker treated him with such thinly veiled distrust. He was sure he hadn't done anything to cause that reaction. He offered a smile and a muttered, "fine," when Archer asked him if he was all right. There was no point in pulling the captain into a situation that may be only imagined anyway. He watched Mayweather and Tucker in silence wishing that something would happen so that they could move on. He focused his mind only on finding Trip. _His_ Trip. Nothing else mattered aside from that for the moment. There had to be someone on this planet who knew what had become of the engineer.

A sudden flash of movement to one side caught his attention and Malcolm whirled, instinctively crouching and giving a cry of warning to alert Archer that they were not alone.

The captain was by his side in an instant, phase pistol in hand looking in the direction that Malcolm indicated.

"I saw something...over there."

Archer followed Malcolm's gaze, straining his eyes against the glare and heat haze. Then, he saw it too. A shadow, or something, he couldn't quite make it out. It was moving fast, heading towards them. Archer flattened himself in the sand, pushing Reed down as well and trained his phase pistol on the rapidly approaching form.

The creature slowed its pace as it got nearer and made no threatening movements. It approached them openly, without hesitation and Archer watched it carefully. It didn't appear to be armed. He narrowed his eyes, waiting until it came up to them and hunkered down, studying Archer and Reed with curiosity.

It spoke after a moment, in sibilant tone overlaid with heavy gutturals that rumbled deep in its throat.

It could only be described as reptilian, Archer thought, staring up into the snub-nosed face of a dark grayish green creature. Its skin was scaly and rough, resembling something like a Terran alligator, and two prominent tusks or teeth protruded from its lower jaw. Its eyes were golden, with elongated pupils, like those of a snake. It spoke again and gestured with a three fingered hand.

Archer took out his communicator and spoke into it, addressing his remarks to the creature, "I am Captain Archer, of the Terran ship Enterprise," he said and aimed the communicator at the alien.

At first, the creature's language remained indecipherable, but after a few attempts the universal translator picked up the speech patterns.

"I am Shilthran," the creature said, though whether this was a name or it's race, Archer couldn't tell. "You are on this planet, why?"

Archer smiled slightly. "We're looking for...a friend of ours," he said. "An engineer. He was lost here a while ago. We want to find him and take him home."

"Shilthran knowss of such a one," the alien replied. Archer glanced at Reed.

"Shilthran hass sseen this one before," the alien indicated Reed as it spoke.

"Is he alive?" Reed spoke from his position beside Archer. "Is the man alive?"

"He livess. One dayss journey," Shilthran said simply and got to his feet. "You come."

"Wait." Archer got up and moved to face Shilthran. "We have...transport." He waved towards the shutttlepod they had come to the planet in and Shilthran followed his gesture.

A moment later, Mayweather and Tucker joined them and Shilthran turned to look at the newcomers. His eyes lingered on Tucker slightly longer than on Mayweather and he moved closer to study the blond engineer intently.

Tucker glanced uneasily at Archer as he was carefully examined by Shilthran, who even went so far as to tentatively touch Tucker's face with one hand. "Blood runss closse," the alien said cryptically and turned away. "Your transsport...makess journey short. You come."

* * *

The Zilanthi village was only an hour's flight from where shuttlepod one crashed. It was barely noticeable from the air. Most of the dwellings were subterranean, the inhabitants sticking to their dug-out homes during the daylight hours in order to conserve moisture in their systems. They were by nature a friendly and inquisitive race, open to outsiders and curious about the newcomers from _Enterprise_.

Archer and his crew were offered water and food, and plied with questions about their home-world, their customs and most importantly, their travels in space, from the moment they arrived.

Whilst the Zilanthi themselves did not venture into space, they had contact with neighboring planets which did, and knew of the Clinarin. They also traded with mercenaries that visited their planet, but none of them had any knowledge of Jasp, the man who had captured and sold Reed.

Malcolm bore with the niceties of the first contact situation as patiently as he could, but a part of him still anxiously wanted to see Trip and ascertain for himself that the man was alive and well. He had to bite his tongue several times to prevent himself from demanding to see the engineer.

After what seemed like hours, the leader of the Zilanthi, an elderly matriarch named Shallarha turned to him. “No doubt you are eager to ssee your companion,” she said with what amounted to a gracious inclination of her scaly head. “He hass often spoken of you and wondered if you live. He will be pleassed to learn of your good fortune.”

Malcolm nodded slightly. “I'm looking forward to seeing him too,” he murmured. As Shallarha got to her feet, he rose, glancing at Archer who stood next to him. He frowned slightly then met the captain's eyes. “If you don't mind, Sir, I'd rather go alone...I think it's best that way.”

Archer hesitated for a moment, then nodded slightly. “All right,” he agreed.

Malcolm smiled his thanks and then followed Shallarha out of the room. They moved through the dry, cool hallways of the underground village for what seemed like ages before the female paused at a door and waved him past her.

“The man you're looking for workss here,” she said simply and took a step back. “I will await you.”

With a small nod of acknowledgement, Reed stepped through the doorway and paused for a moment, taking in his surroundings. It was unmistakably a mechanical workshop of some sort. Tools and spare parts lined the rough-hewn stone benches around the walls, and the room was well lit with lanterns. He smiled. it was the kind of surroundings he would have expected to find Trip in, and that familiarity was comforting. A man was bent over a low bench to one side of the room, working on mechanical device. He was half turned away from Malcolm, and at first, Reed didn't recognise him.

The man was intent on his task, working with a wrench to loosen a bolt. He was muscular, clad in a leather vest and dun-colored trousers. His skin gleamed with a light sheen of perspiration and he paused for a moment to brush a strand of collar-length blond hair from his cheek. His face was bearded.

Malcolm took a small step forward and the movement caused the man to look up, revealing one clear blue eye. The other was covered with a patch made from the same leather as his vest. The one good eye widened with surprise and then clouded, an instant before the man dropped the wrench and made his way quickly into the back of the building, calling out in Zilanthi, his voiced edged with something close to panic.

“Trip!” Malcolm followed the blond man into the room he'd bolted to. “Trip, it's me, Malcolm,” he called, looking around as he walked into a sleeping area. “Trip?”

There was silence, and the room appeared empty at first. Reed frowned, looking for any other doorways that the engineer could have gone through. There were none. “Commander Tucker, show yourself!” Malcolm put a note of command into his tone and almost chuckled as a blonde head slowly rose from the other side of the bed.

“Malcolm?”

“At your service.” Malcolm smiled slightly and took a step closer. “Come out of there, would you? I'm not a ghost.”

Tucker moved slowly, out from behind the bed, moving to sit on the edge of it. “You came back,” he spoke an awed whisper and an instant later was on his feet. “ _Enterprise_? The Cap'n? Did you contact the ship? Are they with ya?” He made his way into the workshop as though he expected to find his crew mates waiting for him.

“Trip...” Malcolm followed the blond man. “There's a lot I have to tell you. It's ... complicated.”

“What?” Tucker spun on his heel to face Reed. “They're all right, aren't they?”

Malcolm let his eyes run over Trip for a moment, taking in the changes in the man's appearance, the neatly trimmed but full beard, the patched eye and the way he held his right hand at an odd angle. Reed realised that there was something wrong with the last two fingers, they curled tightly against the palm, and had a waxy appearance, lifeless and bloodless.

“I think you'd better have a seat, Commander.” Reed moved to a small stool next to a workbench. He shook his head with a sigh, wondering where he should begin. This was not going to be easy.

“I am here with _Enterprise_ ,” Malcolm began, “but it's not as simple as you might think.”

“What's wrong?” Tucker slowly sank down on another stool, leaning against a workbench to steady himself until he was seated. “What's so complicated about it? If the ship's here, then we...we gotta go home!”

“It's not...the same, Trip. It's not the _Enterprise_ we know. Please, just let me talk, all right?” Malcolm waited until Tucker nodded before he went on. “After we were separated...after the crash, I... tried repeatedly to hail the ship. There was no response. I... walked in that desert all day, without water, no food. You were gone and...and I couldn't raise the ship.

_Malcolm stumbled and fell to his knees in the burning sand, flipping open the communicator to try one more time. “Reed to Enterprise, come in. Reed to Captain Archer...T''Pol, can you hear me?”_

_Static was the only reply. The ship must either be out of range, or the device was malfunctioning. He staggered to his feet, the communicator falling unnoticed into the sand as thirst drove him onward._

Tucker nodded, listening as Reed recounted his desperate search for water and civilization. He frowned over the fact that _Enterprise_ had not responded to Reed's calls. Where had the ship gone? They must have seen the pod get into trouble, or noticed the crash...why hadn't they answered?

“When night fell, I was so cold...it was bitter, one extreme to another.” Reed made a rueful face. “I ended up burying myself in the sand to keep warm. I slept like that, and the next morning I was found by Jasp.”

Malcolm brushed over his time with Jasp and his eventual relocation to Clinarin II. He didn't see the need, just now to tell Trip everything about his time on Clinarin II. He filled in some brief details and then moved on to the arrival of the Terran ship and Captain Archer.

Looking into Trip's eyes, he took a deep breath. “When I was able to remember...I realized that this ship, this _Enterprise_ is not ours...it can't be...because...because there is a man on board named Charles Tucker III and Malcolm Reed as they knew him...is dead.”

“What the hell!” Tucker got to his feet and took a couple of paces towards Malcolm. “Are you shittin` me?”

"I wish I was." Malcolm said softly. "You can never know how much." Suddenly it was more than he could do to hold back the anguish that telling his story caused. He realized how much he had lost, his world, his friends and worse, a man whom he loved more than life.

Malcolm brought his hands up to cover his face as he realized with awful clarity that his entire world had been stolen from him. More than just his mind or his memories had been taken, and it had happened before he even encountered Jasp.

“I've lost everything,” he whispered. “There's nothing left!” A choking sob tore from his throat. “They're gone and I will never see them...I'll never see _him_ again!”

Tucker didn't move or speak for several moments, seeming at a loss for how to deal with such raw grief. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other and looked around the room as though appealing to the tools and spare parts for help.

Finally, he hunkered down in front of Malcolm, gently touching his shoulder with his sound hand. “Hey,” he murmured. “Y'haven't lost _everythin_ ' Ah'm still here.” He rubbed the thin shoulder gently and then, impulsively pulled Malcolm into his arms. “I never shoulda left ya out there in that desert...I'm sorry,” he said and then he fell silent, simply holding the other man as the grief continued to pour from him in great, heaving sobs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoy this work, please leave kudos or a comment.  
> (Thank you to those who have been commenting, it means so much!)


	15. Chapter 15

“So y'haven't thought about tryin' to get back to our ship?” Charles Tucker looked at his companion across the room as he laid the piece of bread he'd been eating on his plate.

“No.” Malcolm shook his head as he hastily swallowed a bite of food. “For one thing, there hasn't been time, and without knowing precisely how we came to be here - wherever here is, then there's no way to determine how to get back.” He had composed himself somewhat since his earlier outburst of grief and was grateful that Tucker had moved the topic of conversation onto other matters. He sighed, watching the thoughtful expression on his companion's face for a moment.

“That may be so,” Trip acknowledged, “but my grandaddy always said: 'if there's a hole in a fence, it opens on both sides...'” He smiled slightly, reflecting on that for a moment before he met Reed's eyes. “You said somethin' earlier...somethin' about never seein' _him_ again,” he paused, searching for words. “Who did you mean?”

Malcolm averted his gaze, suddenly uncomfortable. His words had been an outpouring and he had begun to regret them with the return of rationality. He sighed.

“It's something I've never spoken about before,” he said quietly. “Not to anyone, not even to the person who needed most to hear it.” He cast Tucker a brief glance and then shook his head. “I always thought there would be time...” His brow creased as a stab of renewed pain ripped through his chest. “Now it's too late, I suppose.”

“I'd still like t'know,” Tucker said. “If it's not too personal.”

“What does it matter?” Malcolm let out another deep sigh. “I was hopelessly infatuated... with our captain, Trip.” He gave a snort of rueful laughter. “Stupid, wouldn't you say? As if he could ever reciprocate.”

Trip frowned and looked down at his plate, pondering what the other man had just told him. He'd never had any idea that Malcolm had feelings for the captain, the man certainly was good at keeping his personal thoughts and feelings to himself. After a moment, he stood and moved to stand in front of Reed's chair. “So, what're we gonna do? You can see Ah'm not...not exactly fit fer duty and, frankly I dunno how I would handle workin' on a ship that has a man on it who's my double or whatever he is. And this,” he glanced around the small workshop briefly, “this has been my home for the past year on this planet. I'm kinda settled here.”

Malcolm looked up and met the one clear blue eye that regarded him steadily. “You know, I hadn't really thought much about that either.” A small self-deprecating laugh, then, “I just wanted to find you, never thought beyond that. After all, you're the only element of my... _our_ world that still exists.”

Trip nodded. “Well, I guess we should go see this, 'Terran' cap'n that rescued you for a start...we'll figure out what's best to do next from there, okay?”

“All right,” Malcolm got to his feet, brushing a few stray crumbs of bread from his clothes. “They must be wondering by now if I am ever coming back.”

* * *

Commander Charles Tucker III, first officer of the Terran Ship _Enterprise_ leaned against the wall of the small chamber he and the captain had been shown to and drew a deep sigh. The Zilanthi had been very hospitable, and had done the best they could to make them comfortable. He passed a hand over his face, wondering for the 'nth time where Reed was, and when he would return from his meeting with the engineer that they had come back here for.

There was something furtive about the way Reed acted since telling them about the man. It troubled Tucker deeply. He still wasn't sure how he should take this enigmatic stranger. Reed was too tight lipped for Tucker's liking, and the longer he had to wait for the man now, the more his unease grew. He glanced over his shoulder at a sound of movement behind him and smiled. Jon had woken from a light nap and was now sitting up on the small divan he had stretched out on.

“Sleep well?” Tucker asked, amusement tinging his voice.

“I didn't realize I had drifted off,” Jon replied, “You should have wakened me.”

“What fer?” Trip shrugged. “The food they gave us was heavy. Made me feel tired too, and we didn't have anythin' pressin' to attend to.”

Jon got to his feet and stretched with the grace of a cat before approaching his lover. “Well, that depends on your definition of 'pressin',' doesn't it?” He reached to take Tucker in his arms.

“Oh, I see,” Tucker smiled and offered his lips to the captain willingly as he was pulled into the tender embrace and Jon bent down to kiss him.

After a few moments, Jon broke the kiss, looking down into his lover's blue eyes with a frown. “What's wrong?”

“Nothin' really,” Trip replied, running his hands along Jon's forearms. “I just don't like waitin' around, you know that.”

“Impatient as ever,” Jon said and shook his head in mock dismay. “You need to relax, Commander. Here we are on a nice planet, with friendly natives, no threats, no problems - apart from having to wait a while until we meet the person we came here for, and all you can worry about is how long it's taking?” He grinned, flashing strong white teeth and stole another kiss.

Tucker smiled, but it was half-hearted. He gently pulled away from the captain and paced the small chamber. “I'm just gettin' a li'l antsy,” he admitted. “I'll be glad to get above ground again.”

At that moment there were sounds of movement from the corridor outside their chamber and a moment later, Shilthran poked his head in through the door and bared his teeth at them in an approximation of a smile.

“Your companion returnss,” he said. “The one you sseek iss with him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoy this work, please leave kudos or a comment to let the author know.


	16. Chapter 16

**Zilanth**   


Six Standard Earth Months Later…

  


  


Leaning his chair back against the doorpost, Malcolm Reed sighed. A sound of contentment. He smiled, realizing the truth of that description. He was contented. Eyes closed, he reviewed the months since the Terran _Enterprise_ had gone on her way, leaving himself and Charles Tucker III on Zilanthi. It had not been easy to begin with, adapting to a new world, a new language, different customs, but he had done it.

Trip had said that it was probably best if they remained on the planet where their shuttlepod had crashed. Ever the optimist, the engineer still clung to the hope that somehow, their own _Enterprise_ would find them, or that he would find a way to get them off Zilanth and back to their own universe. Malcolm permitted himself another faint smile at that. He would like to go home he supposed, but it wasn’t imperative anymore. He was happy here.

Opening his eyes, he glanced out across the desert plains of his new home world. It wasn’t Earth, granted, but it was a friendlier place than Clinarin II. He had befriended many of the Zilanthi, and was engaged in work, helping them to enhance their security systems, not that it needed that much work. Their detection arrays had astounded Malcolm the first time he saw them.

The Zilanthi lived much of their lives underground, and had no warp capable vessels of their own, through choice rather than lack of advancement. Their arrays consisted of underground networks, which were capable of sensing movement, heat and vibration across a large area of the planet’s surface.

The lizard-like creatures were aware of the presence of strangers on their world from the first moment Shuttlepod One crashed. They’d sent out a search and recovery team…the ones that Malcolm and Trip had mistakenly assumed were pursuing them, but had only managed to ‘rescue’ Tucker.

Malcolm shook his head and made a rueful expression. Had he decided to give himself up when Trip did, he would never have encountered Jasp, never have been sold to Schylar…and yet that, in a sense, had served a good purpose. It had led to him meeting the Terran Archer.

Malcolm often thought of the Terrans and wondered where their travels had taken them. He owed them a debt of gratitude for rescuing him and returning him to Zilanth where he had found the only other person alive who shared anything in common with him, but there was something else he owed them as well. 

Malcolm recalled the last time he had seen them.

  


_“I’d like to express my gratitude, Captain,” Malcolm said as they stood near the entrance to the Zilanthi Burrow that had been designated to him and Trip._

_“It was our pleasure, Lieutenant Reed,” The captain heartily pumped Reed’s hand and met his eyes. “I can only hope that you will be reunited with your crew someday,” he added, “It must be a great loss to them, not having yourself and Commander Tucker aboard.”_

_Malcolm smiled and nodded briefly, casting a glance at his crew mate. “I’m sure that if Commander Tucker has his way, we won’t have to wait too long for that to happen,” he murmured._

_“Well, we’d best be going.” Archer shook Trip’s hand and turned to his Executive Officer, “We’ve got some exploring to do.”_

_The Terran commander stepped forward and held out a padd to Malcolm. “Before we go, I want ya t’have this,” he said._

_Malcolm took the device and stared at it in silence for a moment before he met the commander’s eyes. “These are…”_

_Tucker nodded, “Manumission documents,” he said matter-of-factly. “You’re a free man, Mr. Reed. I didn’t think you’d wanna be always lookin’ over your shoulder for Schylar and his ilk…so…” He made a wry face and glanced at his captain. “Consider it a weddin’ present,” he said, meeting Jon’s eyes. “Mine.”_ __

_Malcolm was surprised to see the captain flush deeply. He smiled, looking from one to the other. “It seems congratulations are in order then.” Hestepped back, falling alongside Trip. “Thank you again and…Godspeed,” he murmured resting a hand on the engineer’s shoulder._

_  
_

Malcolm got up from his chair and stretched luxuriously. Sometimes, he found himself thinking of his own Captain Archer and wondering if he was well, but his dreams of a romance with the man had faded with time as Malcolm realized they were only dreams.

Dreams didn’t keep one going through the kind of ordeals he'd faced since their shuttlepod went down on a rugged and unforgiving planet named Zilanth. They didn’t keep hope alive in one’s heart as he passed the long months of waiting on that same planet to be rescued or…to decide that fate had stranded them here forever.

Dreams couldn’t lighten the day’s burdens and lift the spirits. For that, one needed —Malcolm needed— someone vital and strong and immediate. He looked out across the desert once more as the sun dipped low on the horizon and his eyes fell on a figure approaching through the gathering twilight. He smiled, watching as the man walked towards him.

He reached out and took hold of Trip’s right hand as the engineer arrived at the entrance. He smiled, glancing down at the fingers, which were almost straight now, and pink with blood and life. Trip had progressed well with the stimulants and therapy Phlox had prescribed.

Malcolm had spent hours every evening massaging life and feeling back into those fingers. He met Trip’s eyes and placed his other hand on the man’s shoulder.

“Welcome home,” he said. “I’ve started dinner,” He smiled into the tired eyes of the engineer as he drew him into their underground home. “Is meatloaf all right?”

_~FIN~_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you enjoy this work, please leave kudos or a comment to let the author know.


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